* Meaning his meditated second violence (See Vol. VI. Letter x.x.xVI.) and his succeeding letters to her, supplicating for her pardon.
Yet am I glad this violent spirit can thus creep; that, like a poisonous serpent, he can thus coil himself, and hide his head in his own narrow circlets; because this stooping, this abas.e.m.e.nt, gives me hope that no farther mischief will ensue.
All my apprehension is, what may happen when I am gone; lest then my cousin, or any other of my family, should endeavour to avenge me, and risk their own more precious lives on that account.
If that part of Cain"s curse were Mr. Lovelace"s, to be a fugitive and vagabond in the earth; that is to say, if it meant no more harm to him than that he should be obliged to travel, as it seems he intends, (though I wish him no ill in his travels;) and I could know it; then should I be easy in the hoped-for safety of my friends from his skilful violence--Oh!
that I could hear he was a thousand miles off!
When I began this letter, I did not think I could have run to such a length. But "tis to YOU, my dearest friend, and you have a t.i.tle to the spirits you raise and support; for they are no longer mine, and will subside the moment I cease writing to you.
But what do you bid me hope for, when you tell me that, if your mother"s health will permit, you will see me in town? I hope your mother"s health will be perfected as you wish; but I dare not promise myself so great a favour; so great a blessing, I will call it--and indeed I know not if I should be able to bear it now!
Yet one comfort it is in your power to give me; and that is, let me know, and very speedily it must be, if you wish to oblige me, that all matters are made up between you and Mr. Hickman; to whom, I see, you are resolved, with all your bravery of spirit, to owe a mult.i.tude of obligations for his patience with your flightiness. Think of this, my dear proud friend! and think, likewise, of what I have often told you, that PRIDE, in man or woman, is an extreme that hardly ever fails, sooner or later, to bring forth its mortifying CONTRARY.
May you, my dear Miss Howe, have no discomforts but what you make to yourself! as it will be in your own power to lessen such as these, they ought to be your punishment if you do not. There is no such thing as perfect happiness here, since the busy mind will make to itself evils, were it to find none. You will, therefore, pardon this limited wish, strange as it may appear, till you consider it: for to wish you no infelicity, either within or without you, were to wish you what can never happen in this world; and what perhaps ought not to be wished for, if by a wish one could give one"s friend such an exemption; since we are not to live here always.
We must not, in short, expect that our roses will grow without thorns: but then they are useful and instructive thorns: which, by p.r.i.c.king the fingers of the too-hasty plucker, teach future caution. And who knows not that difficulty gives poignancy to our enjoyments; which are apt to lose their relish with us when they are over easily obtained?
I must conclude--
G.o.d for ever bless you, and all you love and honour, and reward you here and hereafter for your kindness to
Your ever obliged and affectionate CLARISSA HARLOWE.
LETTER LVI
MRS. NORTON, TO MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE [IN ANSWER TO HER"S OF THURSDAY, AUGUST 24. SEE LETTER x.x.x. OF THIS VOLUME.]
THURSDAY, AUG. 31.
I had written sooner, my dearest young lady, but that I have been endeavouring, ever since the receipt of your last letter, to obtain a private audience of your mother, in hopes of leave to communicate it to her. But last night I was surprised by an invitation to breakfast at Harlowe-place this morning; and the chariot came early to fetch me--an honour I did not expect.
When I came, I found there was to be a meeting of all your family with Col. Morden, at Harlowe-place; and it was proposed by your mother, and consented to, that I should be present. Your cousin, I understand, had with difficulty brought this meeting to bear; for your brother had before industriously avoided all conversation with him on the affecting subject; urging that it was not necessary to talk to Mr. Morden upon it, who, being a remoter relation than themselves, had no business to make himself a judge of their conduct to their daughter, their niece, and their sister; especially as he had declared himself in her favour; adding, that he should hardly have patience to be questioned by Mr. Morden on that head.
I was in hopes that your mother would have given me an opportunity of talking with her alone before the company met; but she seemed studiously to avoid it; I dare say, however, not with her inclination.
I was ordered in just before Mr. Morden came; and was bid to sit down-- which I did in the window.
The Colonel, when he came, began the discourse, by renewing, as he called it, his solicitations in your favour. He set before them your penitence; your ill health; your virtue, though once betrayed, and basely used; he then read to them Mr. Lovelace"s letter, a most contrite one indeed,* and your high-souled answer;** for that was what he justly called it; and he treated as it deserved Mr. Brand"s officious information, (of which I had before heard he had made them ashamed,) by representations founded upon inquiries made by Mr. Alston,*** whom he had procured to go up on purpose to acquaint himself with your manner of life, and what was meant by the visits of that Mr. Belford.
* See Vol. VII. LXXIX.
** Ibid. Letter Lx.x.xIII.
*** See Vol. VIII. Letter XXIII.
He then told them, that he had the day before waited upon Miss Howe, and had been shown a letter from you to her,* and permitted to take some memorandums from it, in which you appeared, both by handwriting, and the contents, to be so very ill, that it seemed doubtful to him, if it were possible for you to get over it. And when he read to them that pa.s.sage, where you ask Miss Howe, "What can be done for you now, were your friends to be ever so favourable? and wish for their sakes, more than for your own, that they would still relent;" and then say, "You are very ill--you must drop your pen--and ask excuse for your crooked writing; and take, as it were, a last farewell of Miss Howe;--adieu, my dear, adieu," are your words--
* Ibid. Letter x.x.xIII.
O my child! my child! said you mamma, weeping, and clasping her hands.
Dear Madam, said your brother, be so good as to think you have more children than this ungrateful one.
Yet your sister seemed affected.
Your uncle Harlowe, wiping his eyes, O cousin, said he, if one thought the poor girl was really so ill--
She must, said your uncle Antony. This is written to her private friend.
G.o.d forbid she should be quite lost!
Your uncle Harlowe wished they did not carry their resentments too far.
I begged for G.o.d"s sake, wringing my hands, and with a bended knee, that they would permit me to go up to you; engaging to give them a faithful account of the way you were in. But I was chidden by your brother; and this occasioned some angry words between him and Mr. Morden.
I believe, Sir, I believe, Madam, said your sister to her father and mother, we need not trouble my cousin to read any more. It does but grieve and disturb you. My sister Clary seems to be ill: I think, if Mrs. Norton were permitted to go up to her, it would be right; wickedly as she has acted, if she be truly penitent--
Here she stopt; and every one being silent, I stood up once more, and besought them to let me go; and then I offered to read a pa.s.sage or two in your letter to me of the 24th. But I was taken up again by your brother, and this occasioned still higher words between the Colonel and him.
Your mother, hoping to gain upon your inflexible brother, and to divert the anger of the two gentlemen from each other, proposed that the Colonel should proceed in reading the minutes he had taken from your letter.
He accordingly read, "of your resuming your pen; that you thought you had taken your last farewell; and the rest of that very affecting pa.s.sage, in which you are obliged to break off more than once, and afterwards to take an airing in a chair." Your brother and sister were affected at this; and he had recourse to his snuff-box. And where you comfort Miss Howe, and say, "You shall be happy;" It is more, said he, than she will let any body else be.
Your sister called you sweet soul! but with a low voice: then grew hard-hearted again; set said [sic], n.o.body could help being affected by your pathetic grief--but that it was your talent.
The Colonel then went on to the good effect your airing had upon you; to your good wishes to Miss Howe and Mr. Hickman; and to your concluding sentence, that when the happy life you wished to her comes to be wound up, she may be as calm and as easy at quitting it, as you hope in G.o.d you shall be. Your mother could not stand this; but retired to a corner of the room, and sobbed, and wept. Your father for a few minutes could not speak, though he seemed inclined to say something.
Your uncles were also both affected; but your brother went round to each, and again reminded your mother that she had other children.--What was there, he said, in what was read, but the result of the talent you had of moving the pa.s.sions? And he blamed them for choosing to hear read what they knew their abused indulgence could not be a proof against.
This set Mr. Morden up again--Fie upon you, Cousin Harlowe, said he, I see plainly to whom it is owing that all relationship and ties of blood, with regard to this sweet sufferer, are laid aside. Such rigours as these make it difficult for a sliding virtue ever to recover itself.
Your brother pretended the honour of the family; and declared, that no child ought to be forgiven who abandoned the most indulgent of parents against warning, against the light of knowledge, as you had done.
But, Sir, and Ladies, said I, rising from the seat in the window, and humbly turning round to each, if I may be permitted to speak, my dear Miss asks only for a blessing. She does not beg to be received to favour; she is very ill, and asks only for a last blessing.
Come, come, good Norton, [I need not tell you who said this,] you are up again with your lamentables!--A good woman, as you are, to forgive so readily a crime, that has been as disgraceful to your part in her education as to her family, is a weakness that would induce one to suspect your virtue, if you were to be encountered by a temptation properly adapted.
By some such charitable logic, said Mr. Morden, as this, is my cousin Arabella captivated, I doubt not. If virtue, you, Mr. James Harlowe, are the most virtuous young man in the world.
I knew how it would be, replied your brother, in a pa.s.sion, if I met Mr.
Morden upon this business. I would have declined it; but you, Sir, to his father, would not permit me to do so.
But, Sir, turning to the Colonel, in no other presence----